


The Things You Do For Her

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, humanstuck AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat Vantas is your name, unique as it is, and together with your girlfriend Terezi Pyrope you attend an art school. Her section focuses on the more commonly termed ‘art’; physical representations of one’s being, splashed onto paper for the world to admire. Yours is theatre, and she always did muse that it suited you, such was the drama queen you were.</p><p>Drabble fic, Karezi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things You Do For Her

You’re standing outside on her front porch, a badly-wrapped package tucked safely underneath your arm. Waves of nervousness wash over you, sending your stomach into a frenzy of flops and knots, and you want nothing more than to roll over and die, as opposed to facing the impending embarrassment ahead of you.

Karkat Vantas is your name, unique as it is, and together with your girlfriend Terezi Pyrope you attend an art school. Her section focuses on the more commonly termed ‘art’; physical representations of one’s being, splashed onto paper for the world to admire. Yours is theatre, and she always did muse that it suited you, such was the drama queen you were.

You had kicked up a fuss over that, but she teased and kissed you until you could no longer form coherent sentences, and that was the end of that.

Now you find yourself wondering once again, exactly what possessed you to come here in the first place? The soft crinkling of paper from the crook of your arm whips at your attention, rousing certain memories previously forgotten in your panic. Needless to say, you’re sufficiently reminded.

Your girlfriend, ever the leading lady (sometimes you’d lie on your bed at night, wondering if the roles had been reversed this whole time and you hadn’t ever been the ‘man’ in the relationship, Terezi snatching up the role from right between your fingers) had sent you a bouquet of roses, specially ordered so that it’d be delivered right on your doorstep. It was a romantic gesture, really, even though the blindingly bright flowers had been so horribly mismatched that you’re still seeing rainbow vomit behind your eyelids every time you blink.

She simply doesn’t have a pizzazz for colours outside of painting, you think, but silently, so you won’t get hit or something for having what you find is a perfectly acceptable and truthful opinion.

Of course, the gesture of being sent flowers in itself was endearing beyond words, and you may or may not have spent several hours after that cozied up in a snuggie, trying to keep the blush from reaching your ears whenever the memory arose in your mind, but that was beside the point!

The point was, you’d stupidly decided to take up the challenge of out-romancing her, and the result of that was the poorly-wrapped excuse of a present in your hands. Not literally in your hands, though, because your fingers are bandaged and currently preoccupied, fiddling with each other. Briefly, the notion of retreating crosses your mind, and for a short few seconds you contemplate backing down from your plans and pretending nothing had ever happened.

The image of Kanaya looking down at your pathetic form, shaking her head with disappointment, is what keeps you rooted. She’d spent hours upon hours - just barely more frustrating for her than it was for you - teaching you how to sew for this cause, and you’d spent hours upon and hours in turn getting the blood from your pricked fingers all over her fancy, exotic silk. Finally, with a triumph cry that startled her into pricking her own finger, you’d mastered the piece of shit art of sewing, and managed to not suck enough to hand make one of those scalemate things Terezi loves so much.

It’s lopsided and the red button that serves as its right eye is loose, but anymore tweaking it or fixing it up and you’d have exploded, your string of patience having worn far too thin for comfort at that point. Besides, looks don’t quite matter, because Terezi’s without sight. Through some form of bullshittery or another, she can see the world through emotions - colours that flood her senses, apparently, but thinking about how it works gives you a headache.

You think about her a lot, you realise.

Kanaya had offered to help you wrap it, but you’d brushed her off, saying you weren’t a baby and could do it yourself, thank you very much. In truth, you felt bad for wasting so much of her time, and you did want to make the gift more personal somehow, even if it meant having to wrap it yourself, something that you’ve never done before. It was a risk you had to take, and you regret it immensely, but what’s done is done and before you can seriously rethink your life Terezi swings the door open and _oh shit no escape now_.

Her glasses are off, revealing her eyes. Though her head is turned toward you, her eyes are grey and unfocused, looking a little slightly left from where you’re standing. You know from experience that she hates when people treat her blindness like a disability, and that she’s capable enough, perhaps more so than you, treating it as a blessing in disguise.

“Karkat?”

She sniffs the air, once, twice, and a broad grin stretches over her lips immediately. “Guessing you’ve finally come over to shower me with praise over how much you loved those flowers? Do your drama thing,” here, she flopped over in an mockery of swooning, hand draped over her forehead exaggeratedly. “‘Oh, Miss Pyrope-’”

“Suck it up for one sec, Terezi, and hold out your hands,” you grumble, looking everywhere except at the embarrassing woman before you, before you reach for the parcel and gently place it in her outstretched fingers, closing your hands over hers for a moment to make sure she feels the sincerity.

“You’re radiating an embarrassed, ravishing red!”

Your only response to her statement was to huff angrily, already aware of the recognisable searing burn in your cheeks from being too quickly flustered.

Still, her lips curve up into something less insane, her fingers sharp and skittering over the contours and crevices of the wrapping paper - something from last Christmas, an ugly green decorated with red splotches of happy, fat men, supposedly Santas of some sort. When she finally manages to rip the paper into shreds to get to the treasure inside, her grip on the newfound scalemate is vice-like, with a brightness alit in her eyes.

“I can faintly tell it’s teal and red, but most of what I’m getting is pink,” she says after some time turning and twisting it around, to be able to feel it thoroughly.

You’re merely confused, parroting back, “Pink?”

Terezi swiftly secures the toy under one arm, patting around your chest with one hand before she finds what she needs and tugs you closer by the collar of your shirt. “Pink, for love, you idiot.”

As soon as you open your mouth to retort, she peppers your face with kisses, and you close your eyes to experience the euphoria pumping around in your veins, unable to help the smile that tugs at your lips. She can feel it move under her own, tilting her head so she can better smooch you on the mouth, the entire experience leaving you breathless as always even though she’s done this countless times.

The bandages wrapped around your fingers don’t seem to be that prominent anymore, and you push away memories of the god awful hours of torture learning to sew that plague your mind, in favour of leaning close to your girlfriend to satisfy her with another kiss.

You’re pretty sure you didn’t out-romance her, but was all worth it anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Had the urge to write Karezi even though I don't particularly like it, and since a friend of mine's birthday is coming up and this is her OTP of OTPs, I figured, 'why the hell not'. Happy birthday, Gabi! uvu


End file.
